Coo Nahhen
By A.S. Morgan
His mind was a vivisectionist's, stealing Autumns with serrated ivory teeth. She thinks his blood was purple and his hands cold, four years ago.
Under black light the scales of the broken wing would become iridescent. She winds the bandage carefully. She pins it in place.
There is a man lying under the train.
At home she holds a bird in her shower, counting small heartbeats.